


Being Unprepared

by naughtyspirit



Series: My Life as a Fairytale [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Red Pants, Second Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtyspirit/pseuds/naughtyspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'My Life as a Fairytale' for Lyriumoverdose</p><p>I loved writing this set up so much and really did imagine it as a one shot. But it sort of suggested a sequel and I couldn't resist. </p><p>This time Lyriumoverdose asked for the following: plasticine, dog biscuits, glitter and Scooby Doo</p><p>As always, I shall do my best.</p><p>Following their trip to Copenhagen, wherein Sherlock took John on their first date without telling him, John attempts to take him on a second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Unprepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyriumoverdose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyriumoverdose/gifts).



_Hyde Park.1 p.m. JW_

As far as John's concerned, not enough has changed since their little trip to Denmark. He thought everything would be immediately different but on that score he was entirely wrong. He's used to being wrong, of course. It's the default position with Sherlock, but he had thought, given that Sherlock had bothered to romance him into a date without ever asking him if he wanted to go on one in the first place, that life with his partner in crime-deduction would change significantly.

_Hyde Park is half an hour away. I am downstairs. You know this. Come here instead. SH_

In the meantime John's been busy making adjustments to his own expectations. Following the mostly lovely trip they took to Denmark he's spent much of his time looking at his own reflection. It hasn't changed that much, even if he looks very closely. There's nothing in the mirror that identifies him as gay, not even some small signal that he's "curious". He doesn't see anything obviously queer about the face that looks back at him. It's the same soft focus skin he's lived in and tended to his entire adult life and he doesn't think anyone would look at it and immediately come to the conclusion that he'd just spent three days snogging his flatmate to the point where they both had to stop and come up for air.

_It's romantic. We can have a picnic. JW_

There are some differences, however. The bags beneath his eyes appear to have receded slightly, no doubt an unexpected benefit of sleeping all warm and snuggled up in the big bed the hotel offered. They haven't shared a bed since he came home and he's still not entirely sure it's by mutual consent. He doesn't want to ask, not when he isn't sure how things go forward from here and he admits that he misses those long legs stretched out in the bed beside him. John's not sure he could sleep soundly with an octopus every night but he thinks he'd like to try. In his wilder thoughts, he plans to just climb into Sherlock's bed tonight and wrap himself round his bedmate.

_It's full of idiots and vermin. The sofa is 30 seconds away and food is in the fridge. SH_

He's also suffering quite strongly from stubble rash, something he wouldn't believe possible even if he had thought about it beforehand. Sherlock's jaw always looks soft and smooth, unlike his own. However, the face that looks at him from behind the glass is red around the cheeks and mouth and John can't deny that his lips feels a little tender, swollen and in need of five minutes rubbing with an ice cube if he can manage it. If he can manage it and not get caught by Sherlock, so much the better. Sherlock's skin seems strangely unmarred by their activities and John doesn't think it's fair in the slightest.

_There's no food in the fridge because I haven't done the shopping. Come to Hyde Park and I promise I'll make it worth your while. JW_

As much as he enjoyed the freedom Denmark had to offer, John expected that as they stepped off the plane this end, people would know. As though something about the two of them said clearly that things had changed. He thought, if he's honest, that Mycroft might be at the airport, either congratulating them both, (or more likely threatening John) on their new relationship. He thought at the very least Mrs Hudson would notice, but apart from welcoming them both back warmly and introducing them to her new puppy, there have been no little comments about what the boys are up to and John isn't sure if he should be making an announcement himself. The beacon he imagines is apparently invisible to others.

_How? SH_

He made a point about it back when he was busy protesting that they weren't a couple. He was loud and frankly ignored by most of the people they knew. They assumed John and Sherlock could only tolerate each other because of the sex. But there wasn't any sex then and there isn't any sex now. There is a serious amount of snogging and the occasional moment either side of a shower where one or other of them hasn't quite got his pants on yet. No-one outside of the two of them knows about it and John finds that as frustrating as it was that Sherlock didn't deny they were a couple, it's even more frustrating that he's still not talking about it now that they are.

_Lucky pants. Don't say anything. JW_

They've had lunch at Angelo's twice since Monday and John waited for a candle to show up without any kind of reward. They were still treated with almost kid gloves but John hasn't even been called Sherlock's date now that he is and he can't think of a way to segue it into a conversation that inevitably includes asking for a side order of chips to go with his main course. No-one's so much as winked at him and John can't help wondering if the trick has always been to actually be what he's accused of. He used to get so much more attention when he yelled liar, liar, pants on fire.

_This is blackmail. SH_

So with this unexpected privacy, John keeps cataloging the little changes that _have_ taken place that will add up to a big announcement that they are not Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, but Sherlock and John. He thinks partners is the right term but he isn't sure. Clara was Harry's girlfriend before she was her wife and John has tried that on for size and can't quite imagine introducing Sherlock to anyone at all as his boyfriend. He'd like to, mostly because he thinks the great detective would start to roll his eyes, but partly because he thinks that announcement bit will make all this feel a bit more real back in this country.

_Yep. You'll be there, right? JW_

There's what happens when John comes home, as a good example. When he makes his way up the steps toward 221b with the shopping, John's hands have usually started hurting from gripping plastic handles tightly. Before Denmark, he'd be putting the groceries away with his palms still stinging from the trip to Tescos. After Denmark he's noticed that Sherlock's made a space on the table for him to put things down and he pauses in the middle of whatever he's doing to take a couple of the bags from John's aching fingers. He doesn't assist in anything further, but John's been left at least twice with his collar bone tingling from a brush of Sherlock's lips and John's enjoying the change. Not perfect, but better and he likes it.

_Of course I will. We'll be sharing the same cab, John. Think! SH_

There's also the television to consider. They have their own chairs, angled on occasion toward the television so that they can watch together. However, on Wednesday night Sherlock patted the cushion next to him on the sofa and John watched Pointless with Sherlock's arm draped round his shoulders. John's own hand gripped firmly to his flatmate's thigh. They can't manage this in either chair without climbing on laps and John likes this new comfortable silence they can sit in. His hand tingled where it rested on Sherlock and while he hadn't drawn it higher than mid-thigh, he thinks it's a possibility and wonders what needs to change to make that move.

_I am thinking. I'm over thinking. We need another date. I'm asking you out, wanker. JW_

The last thing is John alone, though he's fairly certain that Sherlock knows as well. There's the matter of his laptop and the history on his browser. The first day they got back, John's fingertips hovered over the delete button before he pressed down firmly and watched the pretty, naked girls fly from his screen. He has ventured a little further along this route, though his attempt to find man on man action led to the laptop cover cracking as he slammed it down in worrying embarrassment. It isn't that he finds the male form unattractive. On the contrary, he is quite sure that watching Sherlock stretch and dry himself off after the shower is possibly the hottest thing he's ever seen. The trouble comes in when the man in question isn't Sherlock but someone random. He doesn't seem to feel the same kind of thrill, just a low level worry that he's going to do it wrong. He doesn't look like any of the men he's seen and no-one looks like Sherlock. John suspects his attraction to the male form might only be Sherlock and the thought is more calming than making their announcement a coming out party as well as a redefinition of the rules.

_You have a delightful turn of phrase. Did this term of endearment work on your girlfriends? SH_

One thing that hasn't changed at all is that the case always comes first. The second day back Lestrade calls and the pair of them head out in pursuit of yet another dangerous man ready to set the world on fire. John's feet ache by the time they get back to the flat again, but there's a glorious result where they have fixed something and he can see from Sherlock's expression that he's not alone. He doesn't kiss the man to close the case, but to celebrate that happiness on Sherlock's face. John's pleasantly surprised that it's damn hot being kissed by someone who stands up firmly in his arms and can offer a low chuckle in response to his own little groans.

So today he plans to accomplish at least one of the things on his 'to change' list and reaches for his phone. John grins, slides it into his pocket and grabs his wallet and heads down the stairs. "They weren't mad wankers! It's hot out there, Sherlock. Leave the coat and bring a blanket."

 

@@@@@

 

The hot weather hasn't waned in the slightest and the only real difference is that here some people find it essential to head out in the midday sun. John's aware of this and has slung on a T-shirt, the thin cotton clinging to his skin and a stripe of sweat outlining his shoulder blades. The metal on the cab windows is too hot to touch and by mutual agreement they're sitting in the centre of the back seat, Sherlock's hand resting lightly against John's knee as the cabbie drives to Hyde Park. A brief stop off at Tescos has secured a pleasant picnic and John is certain that once they get the blanket out he'll be able to relax some, making a small statement in a place no-one knows them.

Having paid the cabbie, John turn to Sherlock and finds himself momentarily caught out. He's used to looking at that imperious profile, but Sherlock is looking directly at him, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth and one hand held out toward him. John stares at the long fingers and hitches in a quick breath.

"I can cross the road on my own."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," says Sherlock with uncustomary patience. "However, since you've made it clear that this is a date, custom would dictate some sort of public acknowledgement of our affection."

"You want to hold my hand."

"Obviously," says Sherlock and when John doesn't move, apparently too caught up in staring at the long fingers, Sherlock takes a step forward and claims John's hand in his own. He turns back toward the park, apparently comfortable in the gesture and nods toward the gates ahead of them. "Gun metal, you know? The engineering behind the entrance is fascinating, John. Can you imagine the sheer amount of effort dedicated to an essentially pointless piece of metalwork."

John blinks. "Pointless? They're gates."

"Exactly, and since you and I have both climbed over similar ones over the last year, they can merely be considered obstacles, not barriers."

"Right," says John and glances down as they walk. His hand is firmly enclosed in Sherlock's and he can feel the cool skin of his palm against John's own. They've held hands before but not in public and his desire for a change appears to be granted. "Er, Sherlock, we're holding hands in the park."

"Observant as ever," says Sherlock. "I have always bowed to your powers of deduction."

"Yeah, thanks for that," says John and leans in closer. "People will talk."

"People always talk. However, on this occasion they will be drawing accurate conclusions."

"They will?"

"Yes, they will. You're holding my hand because you have brought me on a date and I am reciprocating your affection."

John nods and glances either side of him. No-one seems to be even vaguely interested in the pair of them. Though Sherlock cuts an imposing figure, today even the plum shirt seems to be a little less exotic than the other visitors. There are far more flamboyant people walking round and a couple of men holding hands seems almost prosaic. He stamps down firmly on his own concern and grips Sherlock's fingers more firmly. "Let's head over to the Peter Pan statue. We can have lunch there."

"Another statue, John? Should I be concerned?"

"You can be whatever you like, but I'm hungry," says John and urges his detective forward. "There's a pretty view of the Long Water and last time I came here we had sandwiches and I threw some bread to the swans. It'll be nice."

"Ah, so it is something I should be interested in," says Sherlock and leans down, lowering his voice. "Are we planning to go everywhere Karen Smith featured?"

"She didn't feature here," says John firmly. "I was with the cubs and all I fancied at the time was a Twix."

Sherlock snorts. "It's always your belly, John. Well, let's get it fed and you can tell me all about feeding the swans. I'm sure it'll be a thrilling tale."

"Git," says John mildly and nods toward the grass outside the statue. "Put the blanket down there and I'll tell you all about it."

"It's in the hamper."

"What is?"

"The blanket. I put it in the hamper in the cab."

"Right," says John and swallows hard, his free hand flexing lightly as he realises that it's entirely unoccupied. That it doesn't contain the handle of the hamper he'd packed quickly outside Tescos. That, in fact, he doesn't remember picking the hamper up when he paid for the cab that brought them here.

That he's on a picnic date with Sherlock and he has entirely failed to bring both food and a blanket.

"Sherlock," he says, lifting his hand and waving his fingers. "Don't suppose you picked up the hamper?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes as he lifts his empty hand. "My, but you're spectacular at dating. Tell me, John, what is it you usually forget on these occasions?"

"My mad flatmate," says John and rubs his free hand across his forehead. "Okay, okay, it's not a problem. Just you sit down over there. The grass isn't damp and you'll be fine. I'll find something."

"I'm not sharing with the swans."

"Better than bread, I swear," says John and gestures. "Just...look at the statue or something and then you can lecture me on craftsmanship when I get back."

Sherlock arches an eyebrow. "Five minutes."

John stares. "I need more than-"

"Five minutes, John. An imaginative man like you shouldn't need more than that."

As John tries to work out where the nearest stall is, Sherlock steps closer and presses his lips against his ear. "Don't disappoint me. A man in lucky pants should be able to get anything he wants."

John grins and glances up, the smile etched across Sherlock's face proving irresistible. He kisses him quickly and steps back. "Five minutes. Try not to kill anyone before I get back."

 

@@@@@

 

John Watson once launched a surprise attack on insurgents without breaking a sweat. He has carried a gun without concern that he'd have to use it and he has ended more than one life in cold blood. He can be callous when he needs to be and is cool under pressure.

Which does not explain why his palms are currently hot and sweaty at the prospect of the group beyond the bushes. They're armed, which doesn't help, but they're also young and easily distracted. The time limit is clearly of some concern but John isn't about to let Sherlock down. Never let it be said that John Watson ignored a dare and he clenches his hands as he looks over at the scouting troup and plans his attack.

All he has to do is obtain his target and get out of there before anyone notices. With the countdown ticking in the back of his head he hasn't got the time to be choosy. He edges closer, scrunched down on bended knee before he takes a deep breath and decides the time to move is now. He sneaks forward quickly, hands and knees before he can grasp what feels like a flask and a box that has to contain enough to feed them both. With a turn of his heels he's out of there and, clasping his trophies close to his chest, John runs back toward Peter Pan, hoping like mad that Sherlock hasn't got bored in his absence.

He's not quite out of breath as he reaches the railings outside the statue, but he's already looking round for Sherlock, sure that there isn't such a thing as too bored when it comes to his detective. Sherlock is either entertained or bored and both are bewildering to behold. He hopes that his own little adventure has been enough to keep Sherlock waiting and he's rewarded by a cleared throat behind him.

"Well, that's very interesting, John. Who has provided lunch this afternoon, the local primary school?"

John hefts the lunchbox aloft and notices the garish colours across the front. "Cub scouts," he says. "They don't mind sharing."

"No doubt they don't," says Sherlock and gestures for John to join him. "I take it this is their generous donation to our date?"

"Sort of," says John. "Nicked it."

"Ah," says Sherlock and takes the lid off the flask to sniff. "Blackcurrant. Someone's mummy likes Robinsons."

"It'll keep you hydrated," says John and sets the yellow box down in front of them. "And this is heavy. Someone's mum likes to feed him."

"Yes, but I doubt she was expecting to feed you instead." Sherlock pours the liquid into the lid and sips. "All right. What little treats have you brought for us to eat?"

"Cubs eat well," says John and flips the catch. He stares into the lunch box, looking for the tell tale foil wrap that covered all the sandwiches of his youth. A crisp packet. Perhaps an apple. Maybe even a chocolate biscuit if he's lucky.

"Interesting choice," says Sherlock and reaches into the box to pull out the congealed ball of squishy clay. "I seem to remember you're not supposed to eat this."

"Plasticine," says John and stares. "What's he keeping plasticine in his lunch box for? Doesn't he eat?"

"Possibly not," says Sherlock and delves deeper, drawing out the clumsy sculpture of the dog described on the outside of his box. "Didn't you take your toys out with you on an adventure?"

"Not with the scouts, no," says John and realises that he's managed to bring his boyfriend weak cordial and a Scooby Doo lunchbox full of badly made clay figures. He groans and leans back against the ground. "God, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Well, stealing is supposed to be a sin," says Sherlock and chuckles as he leans down on his side next to John. "What an exciting haul you've produced. You must be so proud."

John rests the back of his arm across his eyes. "I've buggered this right up."

"How do you come to that conclusion," asks Sherlock, fingertips tracing the bare skin of John's forearm. "You've stolen from children for me," he says firmly. "Not everyone would do that."

"Sane people wouldn't do that," says John and risks looking up over the edge of his arm. "Sorry about lunch."

Sherlock shakes his head mildly and leans in to kiss the back of John's palm. "Nothing to apologise for. You've been ample entertainment."

John giggles, unable to help it. "Is that what you expect from a date? Theft and forgetfulness?"

"We're spending time together," says Sherlock. "We've held hands and you've run around and built up quite a sweat. It's sounding like a date so far."

His fingers trail down John's arm and hit the ticklish spot at his side. John squirms and leans up on his elbows. "I'm really good at dating. I am."

"I wasn't arguing."

"No, but you haven't seen me at my best," says John. "I could take you for dinner."

"Please, John. Given your issues with food, let's leave dinner out of the equation." Sherlock leans in closer and presses his mouth briefly against John's own. "Besides, we're still on this date and I **am** enjoying myself."

"Yeah?" asks John and reaches up to stroke his hand over the loose curls that spring from Sherlock's temple. He leans up and kisses Sherlock, bottom lip sucked lightly before he draws back with a grin. "Not bored yet?"

"Please!" Sherlock grins and strokes a hand. "How can I be bored when you're going to take that lunch box back?"

John sits up suddenly. "Back? You've got to be kidding."

"As you said, it's some child's toy. And if you don't, you'll be hell to deal with at home. Guilt was never your strong suit, John."

John huffs and reaches for the box again. "If I get caught-"

"If you get caught I'll run with you," says Sherlock and it's enough, right there for John to giggle again. He gets to his feet and stretches slightly.

"This date's not over," he points out. "We are going to go somewhere, and I'm going to spoil you and you're going to see what it's like when you're on a date with John Watson."

"Can't wait," says Sherlock and John takes off, beating pace over the grass until he can catch up with the scouts again. He thrusts the box against the nearest boy and ignores the yell the Scout Master gives as he runs back toward his boyfriend. His feet slip slightly on the grass as he charges toward the statue and yells the warning.

"Run!"

And there is only the sound of mad laughter as the pair of them break time through the park to the nearest taxi rank.

 

@@@@@

 

There are some places John thinks they shouldn't try. Clearly restaurants are out for now. As are parks and very probably Scouting huts, (though he doubts they'll ever have cause to go past one of them again). Nightclubs are also out, given that they walked into one and were promptly covered in glitter at the door. John's still blinking it out of his eyelashes and Sherlock's hair is sparkling, but as they never got any further inside, following Sherlock's admonishment to the young lady with the glittering fingertips, things could definitely have been worse.

A look through the cinema listing reveals nothing either of them will agree to watch, Sherlock, because he isn't about to watch the kind of action flick John favours and John, because he isn't in the mood for Sherlock to explain who did what and when before the titles have rolled. Sherlock rules out any art gallery, on the grounds that most of the pictures are fakes and John isn't prepared to risk his leg ice skating. When John suggests bowling, Sherlock gives him a look of such intense disbelief that John steps back and holds his hands up.

"Okay, why don't we just grab something to drink and head home?"

"If you recall, I suggested the very same before you started this today."

"Yeah," says John and after a heartbeat reaches for Sherlock's hand. "You did, and now I'm admitting you're right."  He grins. "Just let me get a few things and we can go home."

They pick up wine and beer, along with a few other necessities that Sherlock's never responsible for and John wonders what can be done to save the evening. His eyes clearly aren't open enough, not when his fingers are threaded with Sherlock's and he's felt more than a few kisses on his cheek and neck. More than a few touches too, even if they are to brush the glitter from his skin and John is feeling quite giddy in spite of the challenges the day has brought.

A swipe at his belly when they walk through the front door raises another giggle and John drops the shopping and raises both hand in surrender. "Okay, I give up. I'm rubbish at dating."

"You're awful," agrees Sherlock and ceases swiping before he can lean in and grin against John's mouth. "But not at dating. It's the planning that you need to work on, John."

"I thought I had a plan," says John and glances up. "Kind of still working on one."

"Really?" asks Sherlock and kisses the side of John's mouth. "Given your success today, is that a good idea?"

"It's working pretty well so far." He turns his head and meets Sherlock's sure gaze. "So, boyfriend?"

"Hmm?"

"Or partner, I can work with partner if you prefer it?"

"I'm quite attached to Sherlock." He tilts his head and looks down at John. "This matters to you."

"Yeah," says John and hitches in a breath. "It's different, right? I mean we go all the way to Denmark and you took me on a date. Sherlock Holmes, of all people, took me on a date and it was really good. And we, you know, snogged. A lot. Shared a bed and we didn't...well, you know we didn't do anything."

"We kissed."

"We did, but in a really, really..." John huffs again. "I'm not saying this right."

"You're very eloquent," says Sherlock and strokes his fingertips over John's stiff hair and knocks sparkles back against the walls. "Do continue."

"It's just that we did do all of that, right? We did. I mean things are different now. Or they should be."

Sherlock leans back slightly and continues his stroking. "Because we've had a date?"

"Two, sort of," says John and settles his hand on the side of Sherlock's face. "I'm a good boyfriend," he points out. "Girlfriends have said so. Your boyfriend, they said. Because there's pretty much nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"You really are sentimental," says Sherlock, but he's smiling and leans his head into the touch. "All right. Things have changed."

"Glad you've noticed." John grins and licks over his bottom lip. "Changed how?"

"Well," says Sherlock cheerfully as he moves in closer. "I wouldn't be doing this if they hadn't."

"You've never had much idea about personal space. That's not new."

"Oh." Sherlock kisses him firmly, tongue slipping against John's own and when he draws back they're both grinning. "That, I dare to say, is."

"Well...it's an improvement," grins John and chuckles. He licks his lip, tasting the kiss afterward and feels suddenly very conscious of all his body parts. He feels hot and sticky and the sweat of the day's exertions no longer seems a huge problem. His heart sounds loud in his ears and his fingertips seem to tingle when he touches Sherlock's skin, be it only his cheek, his throat and the tender skin at his wrists. "I promised I'd show you what it's like on a date with John Watson."

"You did," agrees Sherlock. "And can I say it's unpredictable, very pleasant and that I'm left wondering if you'd like to finish it quite soon?"

"Oh." John frowns. "Finish it?"

"You're doing that thing again," says Sherlock and comes close to tutting. "And you're not thinking, John. Finish it because then we go home."

"Here's not home?"

"No, here's downstairs at 221," says Sherlock. "And much as I adore Mrs Hudson, the smell of that dog isn't entirely conducive to everything that comes after a date."

"The dog?"

"John, really, do stop repeating everything. You have a thoroughly adequate brain. Do use it."

"Hmm?" John shakes his head to clear as much as he can before he frowns at his detective. "Just to be clear, Sherlock. Insults don't turn me on."

Sherlock grins. "Idiot."

"Right..." John slides a hand down against Sherlock's hip. "Yeah, you're not really getting this, are you?"

"I'm very much with you," says Sherlock and grins slowly, letting the full power of those delicately shaped lips to light up his face. "And if you don't do something about that damned dog, we're never getting up the stairs."

"What do you suggest?" asks John. "It's not like it comes upstairs on purpose. It's a puppy and Mrs Hudson loves it."

"If she attaches so much sentiment to the beast she can keep it down here," says Sherlock and tilts his head. "I'm sure it won't be a problem, will it, Mrs Hudson?"

John blinks and turns sideways, noticing their company in the hallway. In some alarm he stands up straighter and bats Sherlock's hand away so that he can sort out his rumpled clothing. He can't do a damned thing about the glitter but he bends down and retrieves the peace offering from the shopping and holds the bag out. "Dog biscuits," he says and clears his throat as he tries a smile. "For Toby."

She grasps them, the puppy clutched under one arm as she looks at them both. "I don't know what you boys are doing, coming in so late and making a mess of the walls, but I want it cleared up by tomorrow."

"Absolutely," says John. "No problem. We'll be out of your hair and it'll be spotless. Promise." He reaches for the bags and nudges Sherlock. "Come on, let's get the milk in the fridge."

"In a minute," says Sherlock and lifts his hand slowly before he extends it and slides his fingers against the small of John's back. "John would like the change in our relationship to become more well known, Mrs Hudson."

"Yes, dear?" asks Mrs Hudson. "So things are, you know, a bit more, between you?"

"Sherlock," says John warningly and nods to Mrs Hudson. "It's been a long day. You'll have to excuse him."

"What John means to say, Mrs Hudson, is that yes, things are very much more between us." He smiles and brings John in a little closer. "I'm his boyfriend."

John winces slightly as Mrs Hudson oohs over the news and then risks taking another look. She's smiling quite freely at the announcement and when she leans in to kiss both their cheeks he finds that it's not so terrible after all. He can't quite picture explaining it to Lestrade and he really doesn't want to picture telling Mycroft, but Mrs Hudson's quite the start and after a few too many twittering comments he steps back and bangs against the wall. "Yes, well that's very kind of you, Mrs H, but we're heading up to bed. I mean upstairs. Where we live," he says quickly and then, seeing no way out of it, he offers a curt little nod of his head and turns to mount the steps to 221b.

He puts away the shopping and turns back, beer bottles uncapped and in hand. He offers one to Sherlock and tips his own back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," says Sherlock and walks up to the table where John's leaning. "You're embarrassed."

"Little bit, yeah," says John and drinks again. "She knows."

"I think she was already aware," says Sherlock. "I merely confirmed what she knew."

"Brilliant," says John. "So it's out there now."

"Problem?"

John takes another drink, then shakes his head. "I thought there might be, but you know, no, not embarrassed. I'm sort of relieved."

"Wonderful," says Sherlock and sets the beer on the table as he slides his arms round John's middle. "So now that you have a boyfriend and your date is mercifully over, do you have any thoughts on what to do next?"

John opens and closes his mouth before he nods. "Oh yes."

"So I should hope." Sherlock grins. "I could speculate on what they might be but I really wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

"You? Wouldn't want to speculate?" John chuckles. "This is a first."

"No, this is a second," says Sherlock and strokes his fingers lazily over John's back. "Now, you do recall that I only agreed to go out with you today on one condition."

"You did?"

"Blackmail."

"Oh." John grins and settles his fingers against Sherlock's collar, teasing it open as he nods. "Well blackmail's a bit harsh. All I mentioned were pants."

"Lucky pants," points out Sherlock.

John huffs out a breath. "I didn't know if you'd still be interested, after everything that happened today."

"I am extremely interested," says Sherlock. "In fact, while dating you has been thrilling to say the least, I can assure you that your pants are aptly named." He leans in and presses his mouth against John's ear, growling softly as he speaks. "You promised."

"I suppose I did."

"You definitely did. I have the text. Do you need to see it?"

"No, it's okay. I remember sending it. Well, if I promised, I'd best come through."

"Indeed."

John unfastens Sherlock's shirt and leans up to lick along his collar bone before he stands back. He pushes away from the kitchen table and grabs Sherlock's hand. "Come on then, I'm not going to do a big reveal in here. If you wanna see them, we're going to bed."

And with that, Sherlock laughs loudly and obediently follows John to the bedroom. He pauses at the bedroom door to flick on the lights. "I'm not missing this."

"Damn right," says John and pushes him back toward the bed before he grips the edge of the door. "If I'm flashing my pants, I want your full attention."

"That, my dear John, is definitely not a problem."

John throws his head back to laugh and the door swings closed behind him.

-fin-


End file.
